


Breakeven: Before, During & After

by theshizniiit (orphan_account)



Series: Breakeven (Before, During and After) [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Babies, Baby Henry, Bottom Harry, Daisy being a cute little know it all, Depression, Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Trauma, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Kingsman Family, M/M, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Possessive Eggsy, Possessive!Eggsy, Protective Eggsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:36:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/theshizniiit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He wonders what they'll look like.</em><br/><em>Will they have Eggsy's eyes? His own? His hair? Eggsy's?</em><br/>A collection of drabbles set either before, during, or after the events of my fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3867058/chapters/8640913"> Breakeven.</a><br/>(Prompts will also be taken for this 'verse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. During (drabble one)

**Author's Note:**

> You guys requested extra content for this fic, so here's a series!

He wonders what they'll look like.

Will they have Eggsy's eyes? His own? His hair? Eggsy's? 

What about their nose? Lips? Face structure?

Eggsy kisses him and is off, and Daisy opens her bag, spilling her toys everywhere. Harry watches her absently, and thinks.

A little baby, soft and small with a gurgling laugh and chubby cheeks and arms, reaching for him, for Eggsy.

"What you thinkin' about?" 

Harry blinks, eye settling on Daisy, who's noticed he's gone quiet, lost in his thoughts.

He looks at her, not knowing what to say, before he decides to tell the truth.

"The baby. What they'll be like."

Daisy beams before happily clamoring onto his lap, eyes bright.

"Babies are drooly and fun." She squeals happily, like she's taken it upon herself to educate him in what infants are like, "They're small at first and they barf a lot."

Harry can't help but huff a laugh at that. She's not wrong, he supposes.

She pats his stomach, finished with her explanation, and is off again.

Harry feels a kick. Right where Daisy's hand was a moment before.


	2. After (drabble one)

He recognizes the stationary as soon as a very hesitant and mildly concerned Eggsy places the envelope on the table in front of him.

Eggsy hovers, and Harry freezes before slowly blinking away from the letter and down at Henry, who he's currently trying to clean. The young boy giggles, oblivious to his parent's sudden tension as Harry tries to wipe the jam from the boy's face.

Annakiya bounces in her high chair, amused by her older brother's theatrics, which is partially--Harry thinks--why Henry is being a bit cheekier than usual in trying to twist away from Harry as he attempts to clean him up from his latest breakfast mishap.

He's trying to make his little sister laugh.

"Ya don't have to open it, ya know." Eggsy says gently, "Could just...throw it away."

That's a thought. He could. He probably should. It would make sense to. Not even give them the benefit of his time. They're not worth it, and certainly not _now_ , when he's content and happy with a family of his own. When he has Eggsy and his children and his job and his _life_. They don't deserve the knowledge that he's happier than he's ever been.

"Henry, love." Harry asks, "Please stay still for just a moment, dear."

His little boy looks up at him with big eyes--one brown, one blue-green-- and grins before he obliges, giggling as Harry gently wipes the last of the jam from his son's cheek and quickly presses a kiss there, causing the small boy giggle louder.

Eggsy looks on, a fond smile on his face as Henry bounces over to Annakiya's high chair and starts taking it upon himself to start feeding his sister the cheerios that have been scattered on her purple eating tray.

Breakfast time in the Unwin-Hart household ranges from messy to fiasco (as is expected when a household contains two small children), and today is the day where their little daughter was endlessly amused when her older brother ended up with the strawberry jam from his toast on his face, and Henry, in usual big brother fashion, proceeded to make his little sister laugh hysterically by purposefully upending his entire breakfast onto his face.

Their little girl was incredibly pleased, and now Harry no longer has the excuse of a child to clean as a reason to avoid dealing with the letter.

His communication with his parents has been pretty much nonexistent. He'd gotten away from them and never looked back. Why should he? It's not like he missed them, he'd stopped missing them by the time he was nine. They never attempted to contact him (which he knows probably should have bothered him, but he's used to them not caring), and he never checked in with them either. They both made it pretty clear that he wasn't too important to them (or important at all) so when he left and moved on, why would he possibly expect them to get in contact with him? Why would they bother?

And that's what he's asking himself right now, because...well,  _fuck_ , sure it's been _ages_ , but he still remembers the ice blue stationary his mother uses. And in a weird way it's even a bit hard to believe that they're still out there, in that big house, being just as cold and distant as they always were. It's hard to imagine the fact they're still living like that, and like it's _okay_.

It's especially difficult to imagine it now that he has made a home with Eggsy, the man he loves, and their two children, who he adores.

"Harry." Eggsy presses closer to him, the sound of their children giggling and oblivious no more than a foot away, "Ya don't have to read it. Want me to throw it out?"

His brows furrow because...he really doesn't know. It's not like they can ruin anything he has now, he grown and is his own person with his _own_ life, a life they can't touch, but there's still this coil of terror in his stomach at the _thought_ of even seeing them again, and because Harry--despite the fact that he's doing so much better now--is still a tad bit self destructive, he shakes his head minutely, looks at Eggsy and manages a small, tense smile.

"No, I think it's alright."

Even he can hear he doesn't sound all that sure.

"You sure?" Eggsy asks, "You sure ya don't want me to just chuck it in the rubbish bin?"

Harry thinks about it again for a moment before he nods, "Yes. They can hardly do anything to me now."

Eggsy takes his hand and nods slowly, "Do ya want me to take the kids and--"

"No, no," Harry says quickly, "If I'm going to...I think it's best if..."

"Alright." the younger man says, giving him a comforting smile..

Harry picks up the letter. Annakiya throws a cheerio.

"Oi, don't do that, baby girl." Eggsy tells her, retrieving the bit of cereal and plopping a kiss on her curly head.

He opens it. Henry tries to climb on top of the table. Eggsy has to retrieve him.

Harry pulls out the solitary piece of ice blue writing paper and immediately recognizes his mother's script.

Cursive is supposed to be loopy and rounded, isn't it? It's supposed to flow. Harry's mother always managed to somehow make her script sharp and harsh.

Fitting.

The paper is folded neatly in half (and he has the thought that his mother probably had someone else fold it and seal it in the envelope, he can't see her caring enough to even do _that much_ herself) and she's just plainly written 'Harry L. Hart'.

It's foolish, but he _hates_ the fact that she's even _written_ his name. She doesn't deserve to even do that. To even put _ink_ to his initials.

Neither of them have the right.

_Harry,_

_Your father and I have been informed that you've welcomed two children. We insist on your presence at the estate as soon as possible in order to acquaint ourselves with our grandchildren, as they are the distant heirs of the Hart properties._

_Regards,_

_M.H, I.H_

Harry rereads it. Then again. And once more.

One part of him is recoiling in a bundle of nerves and terror at the very thought of seeing them again, of having to step back into his childhood house (he can't say home, because it wasn't)...and one part of him is furious.

They ' _insist_ ' that he visit?

'Really Mother?', he thinks sourly, 'Now you insist on my presence?'

How fucking _dare_ they? The both of them?

Ignore him for years and then _demand_ his presence? Demand for him to drop everything and deliver himself on their doorstep like some kicked dog, still desperate for his parents love?

That's not him anymore. He's no longer six years old.

And really, they've never _insisted_ on his presence _before_. Not when he was a child and was needy for their love and attention. Not when he was small and a parent's love was as mandatory as oxygen or food.

They didn't need him around _then_. They didn't ' _insist_ ' on his presence when he was an adolescent getting into any and all trouble he could because maybe, just _maybe_ , if he acted out enough they would actually acknowledge the fact that he was _there_. That he wasn't some fucking _mistake_ they wanted to forget about.

And then there were the _bruises,_ the _blood_ and _scars_ and _shit_ , Harry feels sick because those same people who ruined him want to meet his children.

Their _babies_.

They want to be in the presence of their excitable, mischievous little Henry, with his chubby, red cheeks and lisp, and Annakiya, their baby girl with a head full of loopy, whimsical curls, big brown eyes and bouncy personality. The two most cruel, cold and distant people he's ever known want to be " _acquainted_ " with his children. His children who giggle, play and have not a care in the world. Who have no knowledge of anything outside their toys, storybooks, each other, their home, and their parent's love.

 _No_.

 _Fuck_ no.

They'd have to _kill_ him first.

Harry won't let either of them so much as lay eyes on his children. The thought alone makes him want to retch.

Because Annakiya and Henry are not Harry. They'll never know the ice cold of a too-large, empty house. They'll never know anything other than being completely and absolutely loved and cherished. They'll never be afraid of the people they call their parents. They'll be hugged, kissed and rocked back to sleep after nightmares, not left alone because no adult deems a child's fear important enough to soothe. They'll never know the feeling of flinching whenever their father is around, or having to control and obsess over every tiny movement or word to avoid being harmed. They'll never know the inky black soreness of bruises or the red of a wound on their skin.

No. Fucking never. He'd fucking die first.

Instead they'll know all the warmth, love, adoration and reverence that Harry has to give. And it turns out, it's quite a bloody lot.

He won't settle for anything less. 

Harry only realizes he's crushing the paper in his grasp when he hears a muffled, "Daddy!" and snaps out his thoughts to see their little girl reaching towards him, mouth full of cheerios.

Harry immediately drops the letter, not caring where it lands, moves around Eggsy (who's alternating between playfully wrestling with Henry and watching Harry in obvious concern) and picks up his daughter. Her hair is a mess from sleep (and so is Henry's), she's still in her blue Paddington pajamas, covered in cereal crumbs as happy as can be, and she plops a drooly kiss on his cheek as soon as he has her settled on his chest. Big brown eyes blink up at him and Harry can't help softly smiling at his daughter as she proudly points to her empty food tray.

"I see, love." he coos at her, "You've finished all your food. Very good, I'm so proud of you!"

His baby girl beams and Henry giggles from where Eggsy has the little boy slung over his shoulder.

Harry presses a kiss to Annakiya's forehead as he bounces her in his arms and does the same for Henry before pressing a kiss to a pleasantly surprised Eggsy's lips, picking up the note and tossing it in the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk I felt like this scenario was important.


	3. After (drabble two)

"Annakiya, love," Harry start fondly, picking up his baby girl, "you can't chew on your brother."

The manor is quiet, and this is one of the rare days Harry doesn't have much to do. 

Henry giggles from his place on the floor, not minding that his baby sister has been using his arm to gnaw on for the past five minutes. Harry kisses the baby girl's chubby cheek as she gurgles happily in his arms before she's given her pacifier and is happily chewing on that, rather than her older brother.

Eggsy's been on a mission for the past two days. Nothing big, just a retrieval in Estonia which means Harry has been left with the children.

Henry stands before bouncing over to Harry, wrapping his arms around his father's leg.

"Juice?"

"You've had quite a lot of juice today, love." Harry tells the little boy, "How about some water?"

The boy nods and Harry is about to refill the child sippy cup before a knock at the door stalls him.

"Come in."

Percival steps in partially, "Arthur, I'm just here to retrieve the weapons report from--oh they're awake."

Harry smirks, "Wide awake."

The man's eyes light up, and really, Harry is both amused and _very_ fucking amused because despite being a secret agent that takes lives on a daily basis Percival is nothing like the stoic, stony faced spy he likes to pretend he is.

That's why Harry doesn't even hesitate in rolling his eyes and handing Annakiya to the man.

"Percy!" Henry shrieks, beaming up at his usual playmate.

"Hello little man!" The agent grins, happily bouncing the little girl on his hip as she grabs at his hair.

Harry is used to this routine. He knows exactly how it goes. Percival comes in with a clear objective, gets distracted by the children, then ends up finally getting around to what he came to Arthur's office for about three hours later.

~

Four hours later, Harry looks up from his laptop and finally asks, "Didn't you pop in for something?"

The agent looks up from his place on the ground surrounded by two estatic children. The man turns around to look at his boss in suprise...he has stickers all over his face.

Heart ones. Little cat ones too. And Henry is happily adding more.

Percival's face colors the slightest bit.

"...oh, yes I supposes I did, didn't I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PERCIVAL IS THE BIGGEST, NERDY SOFTIE OK.
> 
> AND ROXY MAKES FUN OF HIM FOR IT.


	4. After (drabble three)

"I...Harry!" Eggsy says shakily, "Harry he's cryin'--"

Harry walks into the living room and spots Eggsy, kneeling in front of a sobbing Henry, holding a broken glass.

Eggsy looks...crushed and somewhat horrified. Harry's brow furrows.

"What's happened?"

Eggsy blinks at him, eyes wide, "I just...he--he broke the glass 'nd I told 'im to stay away from it but he didn't and I snapped at 'im because he was 'bout to _hurt_ himself and he started cryin'..."

The younger man has gone startlingly pale.

Harry pauses, shocked worry marring his features, "Eggsy? Eggsy are you all right?"

The younger man kneels there, looking between his concerned partner and his crying son, an expression of dawning horror on his face.

Harry's stomach ties itself in knots because the color has drained from Eggsy's face and he's started trembling slightly, but Harry can't quite grasp what the problem is.

"Eggsy? Love?" Harry tries again, voice even softer as he moves closer. Something is not right. Eggsy's eyes are as wide as saucers and he looks... _guilty_. 

His face is a mix of guilt and blinding terror.

Henry bawls.

Eggsy bolts.

One second he's there and the next the front door is slamming and he's just... _gone_. Harry blinks, his mind trying to catch up with what the _fucking hell_ just happened--

Henry sniffles and latches onto his leg.

Harry's hand makes it's way into his son's hair, running through his curls, comforting him. 

Harry feels like he just fucking missed something really bloody important and he's kicking himself because he should have caught whatever it was. And he's supposed to be the head of a spy agency? Fucking hell. Harry may as well ring up Merlin and quit right now.

The seconds tick by as he tries to peice together the puzzle, but clearly he doesn't have all the peices and he kind of wants to bang his head against a wall.

"Henry, did you touch the glass when your father told you not to?" Harry asks after a moment, still trying to figure out what's going on.

Henry sniffles, his chubby face red, and nods guiltily, "I scared daddy." He sniffles again, "Sorry."

"No one is angry at you, it's all right. Just be more careful next time, alright?"

Henry looks up at him and nods, tears drying on his cheeks.

Harry puts Henry down for a nap and calls Eggsy as many times as he possibly can until he officially gets concerned.

And by concerned he means very fucking afraid. 

Why would Henry crying elicit such a reaction? He's cried before. He's gotten in trouble for doing something he shouldn't before and yet Eggsy has never--

Eggsy has never been the one to discipline them. Not for serious things. Not for things that cause crying fits...the younger man usually immediately hands them over to Harry and distances himself.

Harry never really noticed before.

But why? Eggsy is hands on with any other part of parenting, just as much as Harry is. Except for that one aspect.

Harry still feels like he's missing something though, and he's still waiting at nine at night and ready to call someone to watch the house while he tracks down Eggsy himself when he finally hears the door open and close. It's Eggsy, of course. Harry knows what his footsteps sound like.

Harry checks on the children on last time before he makes his way downstairs in the darkened house (and he notices that Eggsy hasnt bother to turn on any lights) and to the kitchen where Eggsy's silhouette stands, tense and stock still.

Eggsy knows he's there, he isn't a spy for no reason, but he doesn't say anything, just stands in the middle of their dark kitchen in silence and in the dark with the moonlight shining through the window.

Harry stops by the door, worried as fuck because _what is going on--_

"I made 'im cry."

The younger man's voice is dull but Harry can't possibly miss the fact that his tone is laced with guilt and disgust. At _himself_.

"He's a child, Eggsy." Harry says softly, taking a few steps toward his distressed partner, "He's barely out of toddlerhood, he cries quite often."

Harry is about to just wrap Eggsy in his arms and demand to know what's wrong, but he isn't sure that will help. Eggsy looks...a way he's never seen before.

"But not--not because of me."

God, he sounds like he's dying inside.

"Eggsy--"

"'Nd I don't--I can't--" 

And then suddenly Eggsy's hands are in his hair and he's breathing like he's been punched in the stomach.

"Eggsy." Harry says gently, stepping closer but pausing when Eggsy tenses at the feeling of his presence getting closer, "Talk to me. What's--"

"I made 'im _cry_." Eggsy chokes, and Harry is shocked because he sounds like he's crying--

"I made 'im cry 'nd I can't--I just--I didn't--"

The younger man's hands come up to tug at his hair in distress as he curls in on himself, shaking.

And Harry rushes forward, wrapping his arms around his shaking, terrified partner--his front to Eggsy's back--because _oh God Eggsy is hurting and he doesn't know why--_

Harry leans his forehead on the back of Eggsy's neck, kissing there.

"Please talk to me." He tries, voice soft as he tightens his hold kissing the back of Eggsy's neck again, "Love, tell me what's wrong. _Please_. Please talk to me."

Eggsy sobs, fisting his hand in his hair harder, tugging roughly. Harry moves his hands, stopping them from inflicting pain to Eggsy's scalp.

"Please stop. Don't hurt yourself. Talk to me, please. Eggsy--"

"I _scared_ 'im. He's my little boy 'nd I _scared_ 'im." The younger man chokes, "I made 'im _cry_ 'nd _how he was lookin'at me_ \--"

Oh.

Oh no. Nonononononononono. And _shit_ , now Harry gets it.

His blood runs cold and he holds Eggsy tighter.

"Eggsy, _no_. Absolutely not. He was upset because he felt guilty for scaring _you_. I know what you're thinking but listen to me--"

"I'm becomin' Dean ain't I?" The younger man spits, voice wrapped in self-loathing, tears and terror, _"I am. I'm gonna be just like 'im--"_

"No. No. _Stop_ it." Harry urges, "Don't you _dare_ \--"

 _"I'm gonna be just like 'im 'nd I can't fuckin' stop it I'm a monster and they'll be afraid of me and I'm gonna hurt 'em I'm gonna hurt you I'm gonna hurt everybody--"_ Eggsy sobs, voice cracking.

" _Listen to me."_ Harry says desperately, "You're wrong. And you're a fool of you think you are going on be _anything_ like him, Eggsy. Do you understand? You could _never_. You're the farthest thing from him, and I _promise_ you that."

Eggsy shakes his head, "I..."

" _No_." Harry says firmly, gripping him tighter, " _Listen to me._ You're a good, kind man and an amazing father to our children. You're the best man I've ever known. You're nothing like him, and I won't let you speak about yourself in such a manner."

Eggsy sniffles.

"So don't you fucking _dare_ believe such lies about yourself. I won't let someone believe any horrid lies about you, and that includes yourself."

"Harry--"

"Our children _adore_ you because you adore _them_ and when they look at you they see _safety_ and someone who loves them unconditionally. They see their father. Someone that will always be there and they can trust and count on. They feel your love every minute of every day and I refuse to let you believe otherwise. They run up to you and hug you because you're their _father_ and they know you love them so, so much. More than can be put into words."

Eggsy gradually calms, relaxing in Harry's hold. His forehead is still pressed to the back of Eggsy's neck, and he refuses to let go because he needs Eggsy to understand--

"Don't you _dare_ talk about yourself like that." Harry whispers into his skin, voice shaking, "Because Eggsy Unwin? I love him, and I won't allow anyone to hurt him or spread lies about him. Even himself." 

They stay like that for a long time, Eggsy calming down and Harry trying to pour every bit of love for Eggsy that he has into the younger man's skin so he can feel how fucking amazing and beautiful he is.

Eggsy turns in his arms and kisses him desperately.

How could he not know? How could Eggsy be walking around, every day, being so absolutely and wonderfully _himself_ and not know that he's one of the best men there is? 

He pulls Eggsy into bed, into a warm embrace, their bodies close, and he whispers and chants the words into his skin until he believes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Eggsy.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back from their trip and trying to stomp their writer's block in the face? Me!
> 
> I'm also taking prompts for this verse, and while it isn't mandatory, it is recommended that Breakeven be read first.
> 
> Anyway, prompt away!


End file.
